Several days after the transplant the chemo began to catch up with me. First it was the nausea. I had expected to feel seasick for a week, but it was only nasty for an hour or two total spread out over several days; indeed, cookies were tossed only a few times thanks to meds (I’ve had the stomach flu far worse).

But there was one wave of nausea that came on so suddenly it apparently triggered a reaction that caused me to pass out. Naturally I was sitting in a chair at the time, so Laura was left with a husband teetering off to one side with rolling eyeballs. Thankfully she sprung into action, swearing at the half dozen nurse call buttons in the room that suddenly weren’t summoning a soul as she flung open the door to yell “I need a nurse NOW!” I had the whole wing in my room in seconds. Now I was the rabbit guy who faints when he pukes. I played it up, of course (PIC).

With only mild nausea and no dreaded mouth sores, chemo’s nastiest was behind me. Um, literally. The chemo-induced “loose stools” kicked in with a vengeance. See, those couple of days also corresponded with a chemo-induced fever. And when I get a fever, I don’t have the strength to stand because of my MS. I could not get out of bed for four days. Let’s just say I’ve never had so many sponge baths in my life, nor had that many women touching and scrubbing every part of me (NO PIC).

At one point, after a two-hour session (bathe, grab the bedpan too late, repeat) Laura started laughing so hard she was crying. I laughed so hard I peed… meaning another bath. Eventually my temperature dropped and I was finally able to leave the room on my own power for the first time in four days.